


signs from the universe, and all that

by youbetsya



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Trapped In Elevator, michael grant and david hale did it first they are the blueprint, no beta gang, that always applies for them, the rest of the 118 briefly appear but it's almost exclusively two idiots in an elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29873367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youbetsya/pseuds/youbetsya
Summary: “Look, it’s like the universe wanted us to take it!”Eddie rolls his eyes as he follows Buck into the elevator. Sure, he had suggested taking the stairs, but he doesn’t really care one way or another. And he’s certain the universe cares even less. “You really believe that crap? Signs from the universe and all that?”“Sure.” Buck hits the button for the bottom floor of the parking garage, where they had parked, and the quiet whirring of the elevator starts up. “I think I have to believe everything happens for a reason. Predestined path or whatever. ”Eddie scoffs. “You sound like a Catholic.”OR The universe puts Eddie and Buck on time out until they get their act together.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 436





	signs from the universe, and all that

**Author's Note:**

> TW for description of a panic attack in the middle
> 
> someday i will either learn how to split fics into multiple chapters or learn how to write shorter fics. today is not that day.

zero hours 

The universe doesn’t give people signs. The universe doesn’t give enough of a shit to give people signs. Eddie doesn’t pretend to be a philosopher, but he’s confident about this. The human mind sees patterns everywhere — that doesn’t mean they’re really there, and it definitely doesn’t mean some unseen force is trying to send a message. Sure, people can interpret coincidences and strange occurrences as signs, but their interpretation will just point them in the direction they would have gone in anyway. Even if the universe did give some people signs, it wouldn’t care enough about Eddie to give him one. Except maybe a middle finger. 

Buck, on the other hand, seems to see signs in everything.

“Why would I go down four flights of stairs when there’s an elevator right here?” Buck says, already pressing the call button. The doors open right away, and Buck gestures towards them. “Look, it’s like the universe wanted us to take it!”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he follows Buck into the elevator. Sure, he had suggested taking the stairs, but he doesn’t really care one way or another. And he’s certain the universe cares even less. “You really believe that crap? Signs from the universe and all that?” 

“Sure.” Buck hits the button for the bottom floor of the parking garage, where they had parked, and the quiet whirring of the elevator starts up. “I think I have to believe everything happens for a reason. Predestined path or whatever. ”

Eddie scoffs. “You sound like a Catholic.” He glances at his watch: 1:48 am. Meaning he’ll have no chance in hell of getting a full eight hours of sleep before picking up Chris in the morning. Which he should’ve expected. He and Buck always lose track of time when they’re together. 

“I’m just saying that —” 

The lights suddenly flicker and go out, the whirring noise cut off by a _clunk_ and a sudden jerking motion that makes Eddie’s stomach flip inside out and almost knocks him over. Panicking won’t help anything, so he immediately focuses on steadying his breathing and thinking through the situation rationally. _Emergency brakes. All elevators have emergency brakes. That’s what’s happening._ In the suffocating moment of darkness and silence, Eddie resists the urge to call out Buck’s name, knowing the emergency lights will come on next.

“Eddie, you okay?” Buck’s disembodied voice sounds in the darkness. 

Despite the panic creeping outwards from his heart against his will, Eddie can’t help but smile. “All good, you?” The emergency lights click on, and in their dim glow, he sees Buck with one hand clamped on the railing and his other hand reaching out in Eddie’s direction. 

“Oh, right. Emergency lights.” Buck chuckles half-heartedly. 

“Power outage?” Eddie is already at the elevator panel, searching for the emergency call button. When he finds it and presses it… nothing happens. 

“That’s my guess.” 

Eddie presses the button again. Nothing. “Fuck.” 

“Um, everything okay over there?” Buck asks, peering over Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Emergency call button isn’t working.” Eddie mutters. 

“Wait, what? Let me see.” Buck shoves between Eddie and the panel to poke at the button himself, as if it can choose who it responds to. Naturally, nothing happens. Buck may be able to charm the pants off just about any human being alive, but a machine was a different story. “Um, okay. So we just call for help on our phones. No big deal.” 

Right. No big deal. Eddie nods. He clicks on his phone. Zero bars. They’re underground, after all. Fucking AT&T. He tries dialing 911 anyway. Naturally, the call doesn’t go through. So he tries again. “No service here. You?”

“So…” Buck looks up from his screen with a wry grin. “My phone just fucking died.”

“Of course it did.” Maybe the universe was giving Eddie the middle finger after all. He runs a hand through his hair, pressing the call button again as soon as the call fails for a second time. “Alarm, I guess? We can just take turns pressing it until someone hears and comes to help.”

“Sure, yeah. Yelling too. Different registers carry differently, or something.”

Eddie nods again. He tries not to think about how the mall they’d parked at has been closed for hours. Or how few cars he’d seen in the street level of the lot. Or how it’s nearly 2 am on a Tuesday night and they’d seen very few people on the street at all. Someone has to come by eventually. 

Right?

one hour 

The shrieking of the alarm is already starting to drive Eddie a little insane. The shrill, incessant ring is reminiscent of the dozens of other alarms he hears on calls every day. But those alarms end. He knows exactly when he’ll be home, in bed, sleeping off the headache from those alarms. He’s the one those alarms are calling. This alarm is mocking him, screaming at him that help is coming. Laughing at him as it doesn’t. 

He leans against the wall, eyes closed, finger jammed into the alarm button. Eddie’s voice gave out maybe fifteen minutes ago, but Buck is still yelling dutifully, though hoarsely, from his position on the floor. Prying the doors open had been a no-go. They could open the inside doors for a few seconds at a time and see down the crack of the elevator shaft, but they must be stuck between floors because the set of doors beyond wouldn’t open. The tools at their disposal amount to the clothes on their backs, Eddie’s jacket, one ¾ full bottle of water, a handful of hard candies from Buck’s pocket, the content of their wallets (credit cards, business cards, IDs, and two expired condoms — Buck’s, obviously), a small bottle of hand sanitizer, Eddie’s car keys, and the pocket knife keychain attached to them. To put it mildly, the whole situation is less than ideal.

Eddie pulls his phone out of his pocket. Still no service. The ever-shrinking yellow bar inside the battery symbol is sand falling through an hourglass he can’t flip over. Seeing the time, he sighs and lets his hand drop from the alarm bell, shaking it out to get the feeling back into his finger. 

Buck coughs into his hand. “Why’d you stop?” His voice is low and scratchy, like it sounds right after he wakes up. 

“Buck, it’s nearly three am. I think we might be here until the morning.” Talking still hurts. Apparently fifteen minutes of silence isn’t enough to repair forty-five straight minutes of screaming your way through the five stages of grief. 

“Fuck,” Buck mutters. Eddie slides down the wall of the elevator to sit next to him, their shoulders pressed together. 

“You think I should try standing on the railing to get service again?”

Buck shakes his head. “I’d guess whatever caused the power outage knocked out a cell tower. Probably better to save your battery and try again in a few hours.”

A few hours. They’re really going to be stuck in this supply-closet-sized elevator together for a few more hours. Too small for either of them to lay down straight across the floor, with indifferent metal walls reflecting warped, blurry images of their figures all around the space. Still, if Eddie has to be stuck in an elevator alone with someone, it might as well be Buck. They already spend twenty-four straight hours together at work all the time. Granted, they had the option of personal space, other people to talk to, and _shit to do_ while at work. Driving to and from Texas had been a tight squeeze, but they had been able to keep busy. Still, if they could get through two twenty hour road trips in one week without killing each other, five or six hours in an elevator was doable. 

Right?

three hours 

Buck will not stop pacing. He must be going on a full hour of non-stop pacing back and forth across the impossibly small space, sometimes silent, often talking to himself or to Eddie. The combined effects of lack of sleep, stress, and boredom, Eddie guesses, is making him testy.

“I’m just _saying_ , you’re the one who insisted on going to the bar after the movie. I was ready to go home.”

“I already apologized, Buck.” Eddie replies, too tired to keep up the argument. He’s laying on the floor, knees necessarily bent, trying not to think about how many shoes have stepped on it since it had last been cleaned. In a few hours, they’ll have to start shouting and ringing the alarm bell again until someone finds them, and he’s determined to stay calm and relaxed in the meantime. Between Afghanistan, long shifts with the 118, and raising a kid, Eddie’s learned to thrive under pressure, function on very little sleep, and take advantage of any opportunity to rest. He’s basically been training to be trapped in this elevator for his entire life. “And anyway, you’re the one who wanted to go to a three-hour long movie that started at nine pm.” 

Okay, so maybe the whole being-trapped thing is getting to Eddie, too. 

“Oh, so this is my fault?” 

“I didn’t say that. It’s no one’s fault.” The space is silent for a moment, save for the thump of Buck’s footsteps against the floor. “Although if we had taken the stairs…”

Buck scoffs. “Fuck off, dude.”

“Signs from the universe.” Eddie mutters. 

Buck just keeps pacing. 

four hours 

“Would you rather get shot in the arm or stabbed in the leg?”

They’re sitting across from each other, backs against parallel walls of the elevator, one leg resting against the other’s. Even after being trapped in this tiny space with Buck for hours, Eddie finds it comforting to have some point of physical contact with him. Call it a sign from the universe. 

“I mean, I’ve already been shot in the arm,” Eddie answers. “And I survived. So, that one.” 

“What did it feel like?” Buck asks absently, like he’s in a dream. The adrenaline had faded hours ago and they could both use some sleep. But sleep won’t come. Probably something to do with the whole trapped-in-an-elevator-overnight situation. The stupid middle-school games to keep each other sane had been Buck’s idea.

“It feels like…” Actually, maybe dwelling on one of the most traumatic days of his life isn’t the best way to pass the time while experiencing another traumatic event. “It feels like getting shot in the fucking arm, man. Or, shoulder, in my case. Maybe I can show you if we get out of here alive.” He bumps his shoe against Buck’s leg and gives a half-hearted smile to show he’s joking. Buck returns his smile, though just as half-heartedly. “Would you rather break your hand or break your nose?”

“Hmm, that’s tough.” Buck leans his head back, staring at the ceiling as he contemplates the question. “I could still work with a broken nose, but who would I be if I wasn’t the pretty one?” He looks back at Eddie with a grin. Eddie really doesn’t think it’s funny. 

“Hey, don’t say that about yourself. I’m the pretty one.” He isn’t nearly delirious enough to say _You are so much more than a pretty face._ If they’re still in here in a few more hours then maybe he’ll be forced to reassess. 

At least Buck laughs. At least Eddie can do that for him — make him laugh. “Probably true. Broken nose, then.” Eddie made a conscious choice not to dwell on the first part. “Speaking of being the pretty one… Would you rather kiss Chimney or kiss me?”

The question cuts straight through the fog of Eddie’s adrenaline crash. _Breathe, Diaz._ It’s a stupid joke. So why the hell does it make his heart hammer against his ribs as if the elevator had just gotten stuck all over again? A mischievous glint shines in Buck’s eyes. If he suspected anything, surely he wouldn’t choose right now to bring it up. Even Buck wasn’t that tactless.

Eddie takes a breath, hoping it doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. “Chimney, obviously,” He lies. The truth would hurt too much to say. Besides, it’s just a game, a way to pass the time. His answer doesn’t matter. “I’ve seen both of you brush your teeth.”

For a moment, Eddie thinks he sees Buck’s face fall. But then he laughs and says, “Touché”, and Eddie knows his mind must already be playing tricks on him. 

seven hours 

Some time ago they’d resumed pressing the alarm bell (and screaming, and banging their shoes against the wall) — more out of frustration than any confidence that someone would be in a mall parking lot so early in the morning. Eddie already feels exhausted and defeated. It’s only been a couple of hours, but it seems like days, weeks have passed with that _goddamn alarm_ piercing clear through his head like a knife. 

Soon, Christopher will be waking up at his abuela’s house, if he isn’t awake already, and Eddie won’t be there to pick him up. Won’t even be able to answer the phone to reassure him everything is okay, tell him that Dad’s fine and will be there as soon as he can. Chris will be safe and taken care no matter how long it takes them to get out of here. That kid is tough as nails. Still, Eddie knows he’ll worry — he always knows when something is wrong, even if the adults around him lie to him about it — and it sends a stab of guilt into his chest. 

He should’ve taken the _fucking_ stairs.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t do this anymore.” Buck lifts his finger off the alarm and side-steps in front of the doors. A fresh jolt of panic rushes through Eddie’s brain. Has Buck cracked? Could he be hurt, sick, in shock, and Eddie hasn’t noticed this whole time? 

Then Buck unzips his jeans. “Can you help me hold the doors open for a second?”

Eddie blinks at him. Disbelief overtakes the panic as he slowly processes what Buck is doing. “Are you seriously about to piss right now?”

“Yeah, I have to piss. I’ve had to piss for, like, three hours.” 

“Hold it!”

“And get a kidney infection? Some medic you are.” Buck starts pushing the doors open himself. The last thing they need is Buck getting his dick stuck in the elevator doors, so Eddie, begrudgingly, lends a hand. He makes sure to look as far in the other direction as possible while Buck does his business. The sound of liquid splashing against metal makes him cringe.

“I can’t believe you’re pissing in the metal box we’re trapped in.” Eddie mutters. 

“I’m not, I’m pissing down the elevator shaft. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will see it and they’ll come help us.” 

“I think you can still get arrested for this.”

“We would be so lucky to be in a jail cell right now, dude.”

ten hours 

A thought suddenly occurs to Eddie and laughter bubbles out of his chest against his will. He can’t believe he hasn’t realized it already. This whole situation is just so absurd, and the fact that it’s only getting worse is… not funny. It’s not funny. But he’s still laughing. 

“Eddie, you okay?” Buck asks, his expression a mask of concern. 

“Yeah, I’m fantastic.” Eddie wipes a tear from his eye. “I’m just peachy. The emergency lights are still on, Buck. People aren’t around because the mall’s power is still out. Someone couldn’t even drive their car into the lot if they wanted to, because the parking booth won’t work if the power is out!” Eddie breaks down into another fit of laughter as Buck drops the shoe he’s been listlessly banging against the wall, looking utterly defeated.

It’s not funny. Obviously it’s not funny. He remembers something about laughter being an anxiety response. Studies showing that the tension and release of muscles helps to reduce cortisol levels. He knows that’s what’s happening, and that it’s out of his control, but he can’t help but feel guilty seeing the look on Buck’s face. He tries to breathe, think clearly to figure out their next steps. But every time he tries to follow a thought it falls apart in his mind. _What if we die here_ really shouldn’t be hilarious, but it is. After surviving countless fires, natural disasters, a damn close call drowning in an aqueduct and a literal fucking _war_ — not to even touch on all the dumb shit that’s almost gotten Buck killed — both of them dying in an elevator would be too perfect.

“So, assuming that is what’s going on, which we can’t know for sure, what do we do now? Just wait for the power to be restored?” Buck says. At least he still has his wits about him.

“I have no goddamn clue.” Eddie pulls out his phone, still laughing hysterically as it turns on. But every muscle in his body freezes when his eyes land on the upper right hand corner. He has service. He has _fucking_ service. One bar of service that he desperately hopes is enough. Without saying a word to Buck, ignoring the growing concern on his face, Eddie clambers on top of the railing, raising his phone up to the ceiling to try for another bar. And he gets one. Heart racing, a feather-light ball of hope settling in his chest for the first time since the first press of the alarm button, Eddie dials 911 with shaking fingers. 

“Shit, Eddie did you get service?” Buck exclaims, putting up his hands to spot Eddie. Not touching him, but almost. 

“Shhh,” He cuts Buck off. The ringing lasts a lifetime. In the stillness, Eddie’s breathing is so loud he worries it will drown out the sound of the dispatcher. So he holds his breath. 

_911, what is your emergency?_

“Holy fucking shit!” Eddie shouts. The hope in his chest sprouts wings. Buck whoops and hollers behind him, grabbing onto Eddie’s waist in a way that might normally cause Eddie to spiral a bit, but right now the only person in the entire world he cares about is the woman on the other end of this line.

_Sir, what seems to be the—_

“Sorry, sorry. I… Jesus, I — I just can’t believe the call went through. My name is Eddie Diaz, I’m LAFD, and I’m trapped in an elevator at… Hello?” His phone has gone eerily silent. “Hello?” He pulls it away from his face to see a pitch black screen. The hope in his chest shudders and dies, bursting into pieces that hit like shrapnel. Eddie knows his phone is dead, a useless brick, a cold corpse in his hands. Still, he watches his hands press at buttons over and over. He is separate from his body, untethered. He barely registers a muffled jolt as his feet hit the ground. Buck probably helped him down. Buck is probably talking. He thinks maybe he can hear Buck talking. He’s pretty sure he can hear someone laughing. Is it him laughing? Again? _Jesus, this guy needs to pull himself together._

And then Eddie’s mind is yanked back into his body. It’s pitch black and freezing fucking cold and everything is wet and he is horribly, hopelessly _alone_. He shouldn’t panic. Panicking won’t help anything. But panic is all he feels. Racing, dizzying panic and, underneath it, the sickening weight of dread. 

“I’m still alive down here!” He screams, over and over, pounding his fists against the dirt walls of the cavern. “I’m still alive down here!”

And then suddenly he can’t breathe. Literally cannot draw in a breath or water will flood his lungs and he will die. But it’s been too long since his last breath and he’s slipping away quickly and his chest is _burning_ , begging for air. Christ, Eddie is going to die. Here, alone, without getting to say goodbye to Chris or tell any of the people in his life how much he loves them. 

Then he feels a harsh pressure on his arm that he thinks isn’t supposed to be there. It kind of hurts. He doesn’t think it’s supposed to hurt there. Is someone shouting his name? Someone is definitely shouting his name. But no one else is down here.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, it’s Buck.”

Buck? Right, Buck. Of course Buck is here, Buck is always with him. Buck’s been with him for hours and hours and hours. 

“Eddie, I’m here with you, okay? It’s 2021, you’re in an elevator. It sucks, but you can breathe. You’re not drowning.” 

He’s not drowning? But he definitely can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe if he’s not drowning? And why does Buck’s voice sound like it’s coming from underwater? 

The pressure of Buck’s nails digging into his arm becomes clearer. A tiny sharp twinge. It’s almost painful, but something in the back of his mind tells him that it’s a good thing and he imagines grabbing onto the feeling as a tether. A rope to replace the one he cut. 

But that was years ago now. It’s 2021. He made it out of the well, and he’s not drowning anymore. As he slowly becomes more aware of his surroundings, he grasps onto the warmth of Buck’s body against his, then the hard ground beneath them — not water or shifting mud but solid ground — and the words Buck is softly murmuring.

“Eddie, it’s 2021. We’re in an elevator. You’re okay. You’re not drowning. You’re not alone. You’re not alone.”

He’s not alone. He’s sobbing and shaking and he can’t catch his breath and he still feels like he’s dying but he’s not going to die alone. 

“Hey, hey.” Buck grabs one of Eddie’s hands and puts it on his own chest, then places Eddie’s other hand on Eddie’s chest. “Try to match my breaths, okay? Try to breathe when I breathe.”

One part of Eddie thinks that’s incredibly stupid because he _can’t_ breathe so how the fuck is knowing when to breathe supposed to help. A quieter part of him thinks _Hey dickhead, you’re having a panic attack or something. Biofeedback. It’s a good idea._

He tries to follow Buck’s breaths. They’re way too deep, and there’s not enough space in his lungs. But he keeps trying. He feels his chest rise and fall, too quick and too shallow.

“You’re doing great, Eds. Just keep breathing and focus on my voice, okay?” 

He keeps trying to breathe and everything hurts but he keeps trying. And he listens to Buck tell him a story about the time he kept an orphaned baby bird in his room for three months when he was eight. He feels sick and dizzy. But his breathing gradually starts to even out as he listens. It’s easier to match Buck’s breaths now. Buck tells another story about getting sent to the principal's office for punching a kid who was pulling on a girl’s braids. Eddie is surprised to find he laughs. Not the panicked, hysterical laughter from earlier, but a real laugh. He feels Buck relax a bit when he laughs, and some of the tension in Eddie’s body reflexively drops away. As Buck launches into another story about the first time he rode a horse, he reaches over Eddie to grab the bottle of water and hand it to him. 

Fuck, Eddie is thirsty as all hell. And _exhausted_. He feels like he’s just pulled a twenty-four hour shift. He greedily gulps down a quarter of the bottle before remembering he needs to be rationing it. With air in his lungs and his head slowly clearing, Eddie is struck with the hot sting of embarrassment about losing his shit. Screaming and crying in Buck’s arms isn’t the best way to show that he had things under control, that they were gonna be okay. But Buck just keeps telling his dumb story about falling off a mini pony and stroking his hand up and down Eddie’s arm. He doesn’t look at Eddie like he’s crazy, or breakable, or already broken.

“Buck, did you say something about a dude ranch?” Eddie’s voice is hoarse. He sits up a bit so he’s leaning against Buck’s shoulder rather than resting a good portion of his body weight against Buck’s chest. Damn, that must have hurt. How long have they been sitting like this?

Buck chuckles and pulls his hand back from Eddie’s arm. Eddie tries not to miss the reassurance of the gentle pressure when it’s gone. “Uh, yeah. Have I never told you about that? It was a few years before I joined the 118.” Head twisted at an almost uncomfortable angle, fighting off sleep that now threatens to close in on him, Eddie watches Buck tell the rest of the story, his eyes flicking to Buck’s chest every few seconds as a reminder to keep matching his breaths. 

In every word Buck speaks he hears, _You’re not alone. You’re not alone._

fourteen hours 

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor pulls Eddie out of an empty, black sleep. Every squeak is followed by a noticeable shaking of… whatever the hell he’s sleeping on. The ground, apparently. He presses the heel of his hands against his eyes before he opens them, pushing back against the pounding pressure in his temple. Christ, he’s hungry. And achy. And definitely too tired to be awake. Generally he feels like he’s been run over by a train. Pretty much every day during basic training he woke up feeling like this. Only less hungry. 

When Eddie opens his eyes and comes face-to-face with a metal wall, his brain fast-forwards through the past fourteen hours in an instant. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against reality, willing himself to just go back to sleep where at least he doesn’t have to think or feel. Except the shaking and the squeaking of those _goddamn_ sneakers is making sleep impossible.

“Buck!” He calls out, because the sneakers aren’t his and there is only _one other_ person in this elevator. 

“What?” Buck replies. Eddie begrudgingly reopens his eyes and turns to see Buck… doing burpees. In the fucking elevator that they’re trapped in. And taking up basically every inch of floor space in the process.

“Are you seriously working out right now? Like, _right_ now?”

“Um, yeah.” Buck stands up straight and puts his hands on his hips. He’s dripping with sweat, face flushed and breathing heavy, which Eddie would find annoyingly attractive under normal circumstances, but at the moment he just finds it annoying. “I’m just trying to stay sane, dude. I’m, like, _buzzing_ right now. And not in a fun way.” He goes back to… doing burpees on the floor of the elevator they’re trapped in. 

Eddie grits his teeth. It’s not like he can tell Buck to stop. They’d both been doing some wild shit to keep from going nuts. Making up ghost stories, arm wrestling, teaching each other hand-clapping games from elementary school. If Buck really needs to jump around for a while, then Eddie can understand that, although he has no idea where he’s getting the energy from. But _Christ_ would it kill him to do something that Eddie could sleep through? After a few more shrill squeaks from his shoes and dramatic shudders from the elevator, Eddie pulls himself up from the ground. He maneuvers past Buck to the panel and jabs his finger into the alarm button. 

He has _got_ to get out of here.

seventeen hours 

If Eddie was anywhere else in the world, he would be unimaginably happy right now. Running his hands through Buck’s curls in a slow, gentle rhythm, feeling the pressure of Buck’s head on his lap, dozing off to the melody of Buck’s sleeping breaths — he’s dreamed about all of it. Actually dreamed about it. He’s prayed about it to a God he doesn’t believe in. He’s whispered it as a wish into his pillow after drinking one too many beers and feeling his heart tear in two when he said goodnight to Buck, one half in his chest and the other in Buck’s pocket. Of course it took the two of them being trapped in a metal death box for hours on end for his wish to come true. If there was someone listening to his prayers they had a twisted fucking sense of humor.

For the most part, his eyes had adjusted to the dim glow of the emergency lights quickly, but the lighting casts shadows across Buck’s face in a way that Eddie hasn’t quite gotten used to yet. Normally when he slept, Buck looked softer, younger. Whether from the shadows sharpening his features, or the stress of their circumstances seeping into even his restful moments, even now he looks on edge. Still, as far as Eddie knows, it’s the longest he’s been still and relaxed since they’d been trapped, and Eddie had no intention of breaking the streak. Right now, Eddie genuinely cares more about Buck getting rest than he does about them getting out of here. Which doesn’t even make any sense, because he would be able to rest much more easily in his own goddamn bed. It’s getting late again, so they probably have no chance of rescue until tomorrow morning anyway. And Eddie feels a sickening pang of guilt when he realizes how inconsequential that seems in this moment. 

Buck stirs in his sleep, and Eddie freezes, holding his breath until Buck settles into a new position, turned on his side with his cheek still resting on Eddie’s lap. When the steady rhythm of his breathing starts up again, Eddie tentatively continues combing his hand through Buck’s hair. It’s softer than Eddie expected, and it feels so right under his fingertips, and Eddie’s stomach twists painfully knowing that, outside of this godforsaken elevator, he can’t touch it.

“Only you could make someone _want_ to stay trapped in an elevator, Buck,” He breathes, his words barely even audible to himself. “Only you.”

eighteen hours 

“I just wish I could find some way to find some way to make it up to you.”

Why Buck insists on bringing up some of the worst months of Eddie’s life on a semi-annual basis, Eddie will never understand. Eddie had been the one to almost lose his kid. Eddie had been the one grieving his wife. Eddie had been the one to get arrested, and almost get arrested again, and almost kill a guy. And Eddie had moved on. Forgiving Buck had been easy once he saw how genuinely awful Buck felt about the whole thing. Eddie doesn’t resent him for any of it — hell, nearly all of it had been out of Buck’s control. But he’s starting to resent him for always wanting to _fucking talk about it._ And always at the worst times, too. Like a hundred and seventeen thousand hours into being trapped in an elevator together.

Eddie rubs his hand across his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever been this exhausted. “Now is not a good time to have this conversation, man. And even if it was, it’s in the past.”

“Not to me. I still think about it every fucking day, and I still feel terrible about it.” Buck takes a step towards him and his face, his voice, is twisted and raw and so goddamn _earnest_. But, really, when is Buck anything less than earnest? It’s one of the things Eddie loves most about him. Right now, though, it’s agonizing. 

“Well, you should probably talk to your therapist about that.” A pressure has been building in Eddie’s chest ever since Buck said the word “tsunami”, making it hard to breathe. He leans back against the wall, trying to put some space between himself and Buck. Not something he does often — certainly not something he _wants_ to do often — but right now it’s necessary.

Not getting the memo, Buck takes a step towards him. “I’m serious, Eddie. I know you said you forgive me, and I believe you, but I still haven’t forgiven myself. For the losing Chris in the tsunami, for the stupid lawsuit. The fighting thing especially.” 

“That wasn’t your fault.” 

“You almost killed a guy because I was being an asshole.” 

“It wasn’t about you.” 

“If I had been there for you, for Chris, then you wouldn’t have —” 

“It wasn’t about you, Buck!” Eddie shouts. Eddie hates shouting. He hates how it feels, how the words rattle through his entire body after leaving his mouth. He hates how it makes other people feel. But if he doesn’t relieve the pressure in his chest somehow he’s going to burst and explode all over the walls of this goddamn elevator. And he refuses to die in here. If he could just get Buck to _listen_ , then maybe everything would be okay. “I’m not just saying that to make you feel better! It sucked that you weren’t around, but it was about _me_ . My own life, my own grief, my own shit. I had just lost my wife. My kid was in pain, _I_ was in pain, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if you were around, maybe it would’ve been better if you were there. I don’t know, and I never will. But it wasn’t about you. Not everything is about _you_ all the goddamn time.” 

Buck staggers back, looking like he’s been slapped. Mouth agape, eyes wide, cheeks red. All of it. And Eddie knows he should feel bad, and he’s sure he will soon. But right now it’s all horribly, achingly true to him. It would be more wrong to apologize without meaning it than to not apologize at all. Buck turns away from him, and Eddie doesn’t want to contemplate why. Doesn’t want to spend his next minutes listening for a shaky breath or seeing Buck’s eyes go red and swollen or worse, watching a blank mask be transposed onto Buck’s face. But there’s nowhere for either of them to go. 

Eddie sighs, and adds, in a gentler voice, “I hope you can forgive yourself, I really do. But either way you have to move on. If you mean it, and you want to make it up to me, the best way to do it is to stop beating yourself up about it. It hurts too much to keep doing this.” 

And that, too, is horribly, achingly true. 

twenty-four hours 

Eddie’s watch beeps, and he doesn’t have to check to know that it’s two am. A full day. They’ve been here for a full day. It probably isn’t a record or anything, but there must be an impressive combination of circumstances lining up to keep them trapped in here for this long. The few seconds of blinding panic on a bad call when he thinks he won’t make it home are nothing compared to the slow, creeping dread of the thought that a fucking elevator in a mall parking lot could be what does him in. All Eddie’s can think about is Christopher. If he’s scared, if he’s angry, if the last words he said to him will be the last words he ever says to him. _I love you, kiddo. See you tomorrow._ They won’t end up in history books or anything, but they could be worse. 

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, his words directed at the ceiling rather than the man lying next to him. They’re stretched diagonally across the floor of the elevator, and Eddie can’t remember when one of them last spoke.

“Mm?”

“I’m sorry for yelling earlier. I’m not… I’m not sorry for what I said, because I meant it. But I’m sorry for the way I said it.” 

There’s a long pause before Buck says, “I know.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t have… You’re not selfish. You’re the most selfless person I know, actually. Selfless to a fault. It’s your savior complex thing that drives me nuts, ‘cause it’s gonna get you killed someday if you don’t… I don’t know, get it figured out.” 

Buck sighs. “I know.” Another long pause. On a normal day, they’re good at comfortable silence. Today, they’ve become masters. “Hey, Eds?” 

“Mm.”

“Do you think we’re gonna die in here?”

Eddie turns to him. And Buck’s face is so close to his when he turns his own head to meet Eddie’s eyes that his mind goes blank. Any clever reassurance he might be able to come up with is gone. And he doesn’t have the energy to lie.

“I don’t know.” It’s only been a day. They still have maybe two days before things start to get really dire. But good medics don’t make promises. “I don’t think so. We’ve made it through a lot worse. And the power has to come back eventually.” Buck’s brow is furrowed, and Eddie resists the urge to reach out and trace his thumb along the outline of his features until the tension eases. 

“But what if, like, the world ended or something, and no one ever comes because they’re too busy dealing with the apocalypse? Or we’re the last people alive?”

Eddie chuckles. Unlikely, sure, but given their luck? Who knows. “In that case, it doesn’t really matter much if we die in here or out there.” 

“I guess not.” Buck returns his gaze to the ceiling, but Eddie keeps studying his face. “Eddie if… if only one of us makes it out of here, it has to be you.”

Eddie’s breath catches. He chokes out another laugh, this one forced and strained. “Okay, now you sound crazy.”

“I’m serious, Eddie.” Buck sits up and swivels to face him, his expression grave. “You have Chris to worry about, and you… it’s more important that you make it out of here than me.”

Eddie mirrors Buck, sitting up so they’re eye level again. “Cut it out. There you go with this savior complex bullshit again. Why would they be able to get one of us out of here but not the other? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“That’s not... ” Buck sighs. “I guess I just mean, like. If it gets cold, you take the jacket. And same with the water, I don’t need any —”

“Wait, hold on. Have you not had any water all day?” How has Eddie not noticed if Buck’s had water or not? No wonder he isn’t making sense. 

Buck shakes his head, pulling himself into a standing position. “It doesn’t matter, that’s what I’m saying.” 

“Of course it matters, you asshole.” Following Buck’s lead, Eddie stands as well. Too quickly, he finds, when light-headedness strikes and his vision is momentarily dotted with stars. He ignores it. “You can’t talk like that. We’re both getting out of here or neither of us is. And, actually, I’ve just decided. We’re both getting out of here.” He scoops up the bottle of water — only about a third full now — and holds it out to Buck. 

“Eddie…” 

“Drink some water.” Eddie insists. When Buck still doesn’t take it, he adds, “It’s not like a couple ounces of water is gonna make a difference anyway. If we’re stuck here for long enough that it matters, this won’t save me.” Bucks eyes flick from Eddie’s face to the bottle then back to Eddie’s face. “Take the damn water, Buck. I’m not asking.” 

He clenches his jaw, but grabs the bottle from Eddie’s hand. Eddie lets out a breath when Buck takes a drink. It’s true that a few sips of water won’t be the deciding factor between life and death, but hopefully it can make Buck feel a little less shitty for now. The taste in Eddie’s own mouth is an oppressive mix of stale beer, morning breath, and sickly sweet cherry hard candy. Not to mention the ever-present headache and exhaustion from the combination of mild dehydration and lack of sleep. He doesn't even want to think about how Buck must be feeling, but it fills up his mind anyway. 

Buck barely pours enough water into his mouth for a single swallow before returning the bottle to Eddie. “Happy now?” 

“Not really,” Eddie replies, but takes the bottle anyway. Both of them are too goddamn headstrong for their own good. “You gotta learn how to take care of yourself, man.” 

“I take care of myself, Eddie.” Buck says, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. Maybe it’s the shadows playing tricks again, but his face looks etched with lines that weren’t there when they stepped into the elevator a lifetime ago. 

“Sure, but never first.” Eddie takes a step towards him, even though they are already standing plenty close. Have been standing or sitting or laying plenty close for an entire day. “You’ll do _anything_ to put other people’s lives above your own. It’s infuriating.” _It’s terrifying._

Buck scoffs, opening his eyes to meet Eddie’s. “You’re one to talk Mr. Cut Line At The Bottom of A Well.”

Of course he would go there. Anything to deflect from his own shit. “That’s not the same thing.”

“How is it any different than anything I’ve done?” Buck pushes off from the wall, closing the space between them even further. Eddie can see every clenched muscle in his face, the stubborn set of his jaw, the deep creases under his eyes. Somehow after twenty-four hours trapped in a box he still looks like a marble statue come to life. Eddie can hear his own heartbeat ringing through his head. It’s all distracting enough that his words come out unfiltered — not sharp, but not softened either.

“Because I know I can never give up on the people that love me. I know I’m better off living with guilt than dying a hero.” 

Buck inhales sharply. He casts his eyes downwards. “I know people love me.” His words are barely loud enough for Eddie to hear, even from less than a foot away. 

“Buck,” Eddie inches closer, close enough that he can feel the heat of Buck’s skin against his. When Buck doesn’t look up, he grabs the back of his neck and gently tilts his chin up with his thumb so he’ll meet Eddie’s eyes. He needs to hear this. And Eddie’s too tired to lie. “It’s not just that we love you. We — _I_ don’t know what I would do without you. It terrifies me when you pull this shit because I wouldn’t…” Even in the impossibly small space, Eddie feels exposed. Like he needs to find cover. “I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you.” 

Buck’s eyes flit around Eddie’s face before fixing on Eddie’s eyes. He whispers, “I _couldn’t_ live in a world without you.” 

And Eddie’s not sure if he heard him right. Maybe the exhaustion or the dehydration is getting to him. That would explain the dizziness. Maybe he’s hallucinating, or dreaming. But he feels more alert than he has in… he can’t remember how long. He feels firmly rooted in his body, in the present, with his heart racing and his skin buzzing. And his gaze keeps getting caught on Buck’s lips, but always returns to Buck’s eyes. And his eyes are saying the same thing Eddie isn’t sure he’d heard: _I couldn’t live in a world without you._

The moment draws out longer than every other moment since they’d gotten trapped. Neither of them make any move to break the tension with a joke or a drastic movement. Eddie feels rather than sees that their breaths are falling in sync, this time without trying. 

He doesn’t have the energy to lie. And in this moment, pulling away would be a lie. 

So he leans in. 

Of all of the scenarios in which he’s imagined kissing Evan Buckley, a day into being trapped in an elevator, both of them with mouths dry from dehydration and last night’s beer still on their breath had, oddly enough, never come up. They both desperately need showers and sleep, and dying here isn’t out of the question.

But, when their lips meet, Eddie’s heart doesn’t know the difference. They may as well have been in a five-star hotel, or the front seat of his car, or the bottom of the fucking ocean. It just feels so _right_ , the wrongness of the circumstances doesn’t even register. And when Buck leans into the kiss and grabs Eddie’s waist to pull Eddie’s body flush against his own, Eddie forgets that they’re even trapped. There’s no way a life-or-death situation could possibly feel this good. 

Eddie shoves his hand into Buck’s hair, feeling it run through his fingers in an entirely different way than however many hours ago when Buck had been asleep on his lap. It’s like his hands are completely new. Like they’ve never touched Buck before, and they can’t decide where to start. The last thing Eddie wants is for this moment to be frantic, rushed, but every part of his body feels a burning desperation to touch him _everywhere_. 

He pushes Buck up against the wall, relishes the quiet sound — somewhere between a gasp and a moan — that escapes Buck’s mouth when he does, and deepens the kiss, introducing tongue and teeth with an urgency that would have been embarrassing if Buck weren’t matching it with every motion. One of Buck’s hands grasps at Eddie’s hair and the nails of the other dig into Eddie’s shoulder when Eddie starts kissing down his neck, driven by a desire unleashed after _years_ of repression, denial, and yearning.

Buck lets out a breathy laugh. “Eddie.”

“Mmhm,” Eddie pulls his mouth from Buck’s neck, filled with an entirely new warmth at the sound of his name in Buck’s mouth like _that_. He kisses back up Buck’s jaw, softer now, though he feels the same urgency coursing through his body.

“Eddie, hey.” Buck’s voice reverberates through Eddie’s mind. It almost sounds like it’s echoing from far away. 

“Mm?” He kisses Buck’s stubble, one side of his mouth, the other side. He wants to kiss every part of him, systematically trail his lips up and down Buck’s body until he’s sure he’s covered every inch, and he’s almost grateful that, for the moment, they have all the time in the world. He wonders how expired those condoms are. 

“Eddie, Eddie, hold on,” Buck says, laughing. He pushes gently against Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie pulls away.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, suddenly filled with alarm. Has he crossed a line? Done something wrong? Hurt him? Buck’s smile, and his hands still pressed against Eddie’s back ease Eddie’s racing mind slightly.

Buck lightly places a finger against Eddie’s lips and says, “Listen for a second.” Which is confusing. Considering they’ve been listening to the same crushing, sickening silence for an entire day now. 

But Eddie listens, past the thunder of blood rushing through his ears, past Buck’s heavy breaths and his own. And he hears his own name. Hears Buck’s. Hears _people_ shouting their names. Quiet, muffled, but definitely real, because Buck is hearing it too.

“Holy fuck,” He mutters, too shocked to move. Then, a morphine drip of hope in his veins. “Holy fuck!”

“Holy fuck!” Buck agrees. Elated laughter fills the space between them, and Eddie pulls Buck in for a hysterical, rushed kiss made sloppy by their immovable smiles before they break apart. Eddie slams his hand against the alarm, shouting everything that comes into his head — some more coherent “Here! We’re here!”s, but mostly swearing and wordless noises — while Buck clambers onto the railing and starts banging against the ceiling and the walls, yelling just as incomprehensibly and twice as loud. 

The shouting outside gets closer, until it’s clear they’ve located the elevator. Eddie can’t tell who they are, if it’s the 118 or a different crew, but it doesn’t matter. Never in his life has he been so happy to hear the clamor of power tools starting up. 

They’re actually getting out of here. 

He turns to Buck, whose eyes are brimming with tears as he laughs in disbelief and joy, and they collide in an embrace. 

“We’re actually getting out of here,” He breathes into Buck’s ear, his hand pressed against the back of Buck’s head. They’ve never hugged like this before, recklessly and brazenly, and it’s _blissful_ not to count the seconds to make sure he doesn’t hold on too long. 

“We didn’t even die or anything,” Buck replies, burying his face in Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie laughs and tucks his cheek against Buck’s. “We do have to talk about all of this later, though.” 

“Duh. But I need to shower first.”

They’re pulled out of the elevator by their dashing rescuers: an exhausted but relieved 118 crew, plus Athena and a handful of other officers. They exchange hugs and tearful thanks, and are guided to the ambulance, despite insisting that they’re fine. As Hen and Chimney fuss over them, taking their vitals and giving them shock blankets they don’t need and demanding they take small sips of water (“But not too quickly or you’ll just puke and get more dehydrated and I _don’t_ need to deal with that tonight on top of all of this,” Hen adds, as if they aren’t also certified medical professionals. Eddie could have kissed her.), Bobby explains the situation.

The power had indeed gone out, for the mall and the whole surrounding area. A freak accident — no one knows exactly what went wrong yet. Most of the grid had been restored, but the area around the mall was proving tricky. It had been closed all day, with very few people in and out, and most of them maintenance employees who used a different entrance. Apparently the alarm and their shouting was surprisingly quiet from the outside — Bobby suspects if anyone hadn’t been listening for it, they might have walked right past the elevator shaft and not known anything was wrong. Eddie’s call to the dispatch center had cut off before they could even get his name, and hadn’t lasted long enough to track him. Once their families had realized the pair was missing, Maddie had found the call to confirm they were in trouble. Knowing they’d gone to the movies but not knowing where, the crew set out searching around every movie theater in the area before finding Eddie’s car in this lot. 

“You’re lucky we’re persistent. We’ve been searching for you assholes for _hours_.” Having declared Eddie’s vitals “good enough”, Chimney collapses next to Buck and Eddie, who sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the back of the ambulance. Chim, Hen, Bobby, and Athena all look just as tired as Eddie feels, although a bit less disheveled. “Do you guys want to go to the hospital? Because we can take you to the hospital.”

“No!” Eddie and Buck exclaim in unison.

“I have a kid to get home to,” Eddie adds. Chris is still at his abuela’s, so that’s where Eddie’s headed. No one on Earth could convince him to go anywhere else right now. 

“I just want to drink a gallon of water and sleep forever,” Buck says, leaning his head against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie tenses. On an everyday basis he and Buck are close, but this is new. Chimney doesn’t notice, but Hen raises her eyebrows at Eddie. He silently begs her not to make it a thing, and she rolls her eyes to indicate she got the message. 

All she says is, “We’ll drop you both off before we head back to the station. You may not need emergency medical intervention, but you’re in no condition to drive,” and Eddie responds with a grateful smile. 

They thank Bobby and Athena again before climbing into the back of the ambulance with Hen, with Chimney designated as driver.

The moment the doors close, Hen turns her attention to Buck with a glint in her eye. “So, what happened to your neck, Buckaroo? You didn’t mention any injuries.” She shifts her stare to Eddie, who can feel his face growing warm. He hadn’t even realized he’d left a mark. Like some horny teenager. Whoops. “Odd place for a bruise.” 

Eddie exchanges a glance with Buck, who looks just as unsure how to respond. A slight smile from Buck eases some of the tightness in his chest. It’s inevitable that Hen already knows everything, anyway. Hen _always_ knows everything. 

“Also, you two are awfully cozy right now for people who were just trapped in an elevator together for a full day.” Despite having plenty of space in the ambulance, they’re practically sitting in each other’s laps, unwilling to separate even after everything. “Anything interesting happen down there?”

Buck groans and buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder. His voice comes out muffled as he says, “Hen, please give it a rest. It’s stupid, we know.” Eddie laughs and can’t resist planting a kiss on the top of his head. It feels so strange and so natural at the same time — entirely new but somehow familiar. A tension between them had disappeared, leaving behind a bright, airy joy that Eddie wants to hold onto forever. He has no idea what will happen next. But it feels like a beginning. 

Hen’s eyes light up, and she grins at Eddie, shaking her head slightly. “It is indeed stupid that it took a literal act of God for you two idiots to finally get the message.” Apparently satisfied with herself, she leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “You guys are lucky I won the bet.”

Eddie doesn’t even want to know.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you want, you can come hang out with me on tumblr @maddiebuckettebuckley!


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